


A Thousand Synchronous Points of Light

by onthedriftinthetardis (on_the_drift)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fireflies, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, PWP, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7382590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/on_the_drift/pseuds/onthedriftinthetardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor takes Rose to the Great Smoky Mountains in the 20s for dinner and dancing at a rustic club. He might have something else planned, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Synchronous Points of Light

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to mountaingirlheidi for the beta!!

Near a small, wood-planked cottage in the forest, a foreign, cyclical grinding sound pierced the summer afternoon as a dark blue police box faded into existence. A wood thrush and a red-eyed vireo stopped their singing, and a downy woodpecker paused mid-peck. Grey squirrels scattered in the fallen leaves and climbed the backs of nearby trees to hide high in the branches. A black bear stopped her small cubs from playing a game of chase in the underbrush, and ambled off hurriedly in the direction that smelled least like people and strange boxes, her cubs following closely behind. In time, the birds resumed their songs, and the squirrels stopped their angry chittering and came down to get on with the important business of foraging.

Inside the TARDIS, the Doctor adjusted his bow tie for the third time in as many minutes. He flipped his sonic screwdriver in the air, catching it deftly. He double checked the universal base code, and locked the temporal stabiliser. How long was she going to be? 

He sighed, and removed the section of flooring that gave him access to the time phase oscillator. He dropped into the recessed compartment and began to sonic various bits that really didn’t need adjustment, but gave him something to occupy his hands while he waited for Rose to choose her outfit and get dressed. He had specified “late 1920s evening wear,” but the TARDIS wardrobe was extensive, and he imagined, given that this was an entirely new time period for Rose, that it could be quite some time before she made an appearance.

***

Rose removed evening gown #13 from the rack in front of her. She shed her jeans and t-shirt and slipped into the dress, smoothing it over her hips. She looked at herself in the mirror and broke out in a grin. Finally — this was just the thing! She donned the matching shoes the TARDIS provided, and headed for her ensuite to do her hair and makeup. The Doctor sometimes groused when she took over an hour to get ready for an evening out, but really, she thought, he had no room to talk. He always wore the same, admittedly dashing, black tuxedo, and his incongruously charming black Chucks. And he fussed with his hair longer than she did. Not that she was complaining; the results were always more than worth the wait. She just wished he wouldn’t sigh and moan when he had to wait for her instead of the other way around. She checked her hair in the mirror once more, and made her way to the control room. 

As usual, the Doctor was shoulder-deep in TARDIS repairs when Rose got there. Hewasn’tdressed in his usual tux, but rather in a fitted black tailcoat. He looked gorgeous, she thought. Well, even more gorgeous than usual. His ability to unintentionally flirt with his choice of attire never ceased to amaze her. She tried desperately, though unsuccessfully, to ignore how she felt about him. She had long ago admitted to herself that she loved him, since before his regeneration, but this new body tested the limits of her restraint. 

Although he flirted with her mercilessly, he didn’t seem inclined to take things further than the many hugs they routinely shared, and one kiss of infinite gratitude after she had saved him from a nightmarish life as a statue — for a man who never stopped running, being conscious inside unmoving stone would have been a living hell. At the time, she'd thought it was a turning point in their relationship, but when there'd been no follow-through on his part, Rose concluded that he wasn't going to make a move.

She’d considered telling him how she felt, but she was a little afraid to tamper with the status quo of their relationship, which she was sure was the best friendship in the universe. Maybe he was afraid of the same thing. 

Rose cleared her throat, and the Doctor looked up, jaw dropping as he straightened and stared at her. His eyes roamed over her body, making her shift nervously from foot to foot. She’d added loose curls to her hair, and set it off with an art deco hairpiece in sparkling gold. She wore a gold V-neck mesh and satin dress with intricate, shimmering art deco beadwork in the shapes of stars, and a rayed star in a rather suggestive location. A beaded fringe hung below and moved in tantalizing ways as she swayed back and forth. The Doctor swallowed. Unconsciously, Rose ran her hands down the sides of the dress and past her hips. It was clear she had his full attention.

“Rose,” he rasped, then cleared his throat. “You look beautiful.”

Rose grinned. “So do you. Very dashing.”

The Doctor slowly grinned back. “Thank you so much, Miss Tyler.” 

He climbed out of the compartment, repairs forgotten. Rose noticed with surprise that he wasn’t wearing trainers, but proper black dress shoes. 

The Doctor popped the sonic screwdriver into a hidden pocket inside his tailcoat, and went to her, crossing the distance between them in two long strides. He was still staring, he realized, but couldn’t seem to stop himself. His trousers were also becoming uncomfortably snug. He cleared his throat, tugging on his ear. 

“Would you care to accompany me to the dance, Dame Rose?” he asked formally.

“I would, Sir Doctor,” Rose replied with a cheeky smile. The Doctor automatically smiled back at her.

He unexpectedly proffered his arm, and, thoroughly charmed, Rose hooked her arm through his.

***

Rose looked around in surprise. Instead of a swank 1920s dance hall, she found herself outside a rustic, two-story cottage in the middle of a forest. The green cabin was surrounded by giant maple, birch, elm, and poplar trees, interspersed with firs. Sunlight streamed low through the leaves. Birds chittered and sang, invisible on their perches high in the trees, and a rushing stream rippled behind the cottage. Rose looked up at the Doctor, perplexed.

“Where are we?” she asked. “Did you fancy a dance in the woods?” she said, half teasing, half wondering if her quip was actually what he intended.

“We’re in the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, in a settlement called Elkmont,” the Doctor sniffed. “This cottage belongs to an old friend of mine, Colonel David Chapman, who was good enough to invite us to stay in his summer home while he’s out of town on business.”

“Out of town?” asked Rose, looking around for any other signs of civilization. “Where’s the town?”

“Since you ask,” said the Doctor, “we’ll be walking past some of it on our way to this evening’s dinner and dance at the Appalachian Clubhouse, about half a mile down this trail,” he continued. He led her toward the narrow, packed earth road on their right. Rose was suddenly very glad the TARDIS had provided her with a pair of flats rather than high heels. She hurried along to keep up with him.

“But we are in the 1920s, yeah?”

“We are. Specifically, we are on the sixth of June,1928, at a quarter to six in the evening. We should be just in time for an early dinner, by the time we get to the club.”

They walked together in silence for a few moments, and gradually, their hands slipped down until finally, the Doctor took Rose’s hand in his, and they continued on as they always had, hand in hand. 

“So, how do you know this Chapman bloke?” Rose asked. 

“I met Chapman during the Spanish-American war. He's a good man,” he continued, “Mum’s the word, but he's the one who’s most for establishing the Smokies as a National Park. He'll do more to conserve this wilderness than anyone. And what a wilderness it is!” he enthused. 

The Doctor began to ramble on about the natural history of the area. “The Smoky Mountains get over two meters of precipitation per year, which is more annual rainfall than anywhere in the continental United States, apart from the Pacific Northwest. And there are thousands of species of plants and animals here — elk and black bears, salamanders, lichens, Fraser fir (which makes the best Christmas trees, did you know that, Rose?), over 50 species of fish, and 1,400 flowering plant species, including painted trillium, like that one over there,” he pointed a finger at a large red and white three-petaled flower. “Oooh, we're lucky, a late bloomer!” he effused. “It's a veritable treasure chest of flora and fauna!”

Rose listened indulgently without taking in many of the specifics. She enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her skin, and the feeling of the Doctor's strong hand in hers, a little cooler than hers, but warmed by the contact. She listened to the sounds of unfamiliar birds singing in the trees, and the stream gurgling and rushing nearby. Soon the dirt path gave way to a boardwalk. And just as the Doctor had said, they started passing by many cabins, each with its own unique design, and each painted a different color.

Before she knew it, the path opened up, and across a small parking lot filled with an assortment of carriages and old fashioned cars stood a large brown wooden building, nearly hidden among large trees. The sounds of conversation, laughter, and cutlery clinking against plates reached her ears. Another couple approached the right side of the building, and disappeared within. The man had a jacket and tie on, and the woman a nice dress, but they weren’t in formal wear. The Doctor paused, dropping her hand and offering her his arm again. She took it, and looked up at him.

“Ready?” he said cheerfully.

“It looks awfully rustic,” she said hesitantly, “Aren't we a bit overdressed?” 

“Nonsense, Rose Tyler! We’ll just be the best-dressed couple … er, couple of people, at the club!” he said, waving his arm about. 

“All right,” Rose said, smiling at his slip. She wondered if this meant that he secretly imagined the two of them as a couple. A girl could always hope.

The Doctor shot her a grin, and they made their way to the stairs on the right side of the building. Seven steps led up to a long porch, covered in round dining tables where white-shirted men in ties and women in knee-length dresses were talking and eating. Several faces turned to look at them curiously, and the Doctor gave them a winning smile. Most of them smiled back, and went back to what they had been doing, though a few continued to stare. They were approached by a man wearing a dark jacket and tie, apparently the maître d'.

“Good evening, sir,” he said. “I’m sorry, but the clubhouse is for members only. 

Rose expected the Doctor to reach for the psychic paper, but instead he withdrew a letter from an inner pocket of his tailcoat. “It’s all right,” he said, “We're here by invitation of Colonel Chapman. The letter explains everything,” he said, holding out the envelope. 

The man took the letter with a skeptical expression and opened the letter. He took a moment to read it, and looked back at the Doctor in some amazement.

“I do apologize, sir,” he said, bowing respectfully. “Will you be dining with us this evening?”

“Yes, and staying for the dance afterward,” the Doctor replied with a nod. “I’ve arranged for a special guest to join the band tonight, I hope that’s all right?”

“Of course, sir, I’m sure they will welcome another musician,” said the maître d' obsequiously. 

“Brilliant!” exclaimed the Doctor, pretending not to notice the sudden fawning. “He should be arriving in an hour or so, if he’s not delayed.”

The man nodded, bowed again, and led them to a table near the far end of the porch. The Doctor pulled Rose’s chair out for her, winking at her surprised expression. He seated her and then removed his tailcoat, putting it on the back of his chair, and sat down next to her. 

“What can I get the two of you to drink?” said the maître d', looking at the Doctor. Rose was momentarily annoyed at the presumption that she couldn't order on her own, but the Doctor tapped her foot under the table and gave her an apologetic look. “Sweet tea, for me. What’ll you have, Rose?” he encouraged.

“Sounds good to me,” she said, suddenly remembering that in the Roaring Twenties, the United States was still under Prohibition. 

Off he went, and Rose stared at the Doctor until he looked back at her, eyebrows raised in question.

“All right, what’s going on,” she said quietly, so as not to be overheard by the other diners.

“What do you mean?” said the Doctor. Rose rolled her eyes.

“I mean, what was in that letter? That man was ready to throw us out on our ear until he read it. What does it say?”

“It’s a letter from Colonel Chapman, explaining how I saved his life during the war,” said the Doctor casually. “He was very nearly bayoneted.”

“Blimey!” said Rose, “No wonder he doesn't mind letting us use his summer home, then.”

“Quite,” murmured the Doctor in assent. “Anyway, the letter says that the club is to allow me to stand in for him while he’s away and have access to club privileges, that sort of thing,” he sniffed.

Rose grinned and shook her head. 

“What?” the Doctor smiled.

“You think you're so impressive,” teased Rose, but she reached for the Doctor’s hand under the table and squeezed it, hoping some part of him understood how much she loved him. 

“Welllll,” he said, and squeezed her hand back. Rose hoped that meant that he did.

“So, what’s good?” she said, looking at the menu. 

“It’s all good,” said the Doctor, “But since you like fish, I recommend the rainbow trout. It’s freshly caught, and well prepared. You won’t be disappointed.”

Rose nodded, and shortly thereafter, a waiter approached them with their drinks and took their orders. After the waiter took the menus and left, they drank deeply from their glasses. Rose admired the cut crystal, the crushed ice, and the slice of lemon on top. It couldn’t be easy to get ice or lemons in such a remote location in this day and age, but they had them. 

They talked as they waited for their food to arrive, the Doctor continuing his natural history lesson with an overview of the geology of the area. Rose listened, trying to follow along as he spoke of the great age of the mountains, plate tectonics, and something called an orogeny that momentarily startled her into attention because she thought he'd said “erogenous,” but it turned out that he was just using the geological term for mountain building. (To be fair, the way he used his hands to illustrate the formation of the mountains had seemed rather suggestive.) Rose hung on to the Doctor’s lecture for quite a while, but eventually got lost in the technical language. 

At long last, their dinner arrived: freshly pan-seared rainbow trout for her and chicken Kiev for the Doctor, accompanied by fingerling roasted potatoes and green beans, with slabs of cornbread on the side. The Doctor quickly tucked in, making appreciative noises that distracted Rose from her own meal. But when she tried her food, she understood his noisy approval — it was one of the best meals she’d ever had. 

They finished eating and the Doctor asked their waiter what was on for dessert. Dutifully, the man recited the short list of sweetmeats, and after a moment’s consideration, the Doctor ordered the peach cobbler. Rose said “For two?” and the waiter glided off to the kitchen. The Doctor began to explain about the origin of the dessert.

“Hello,” interrupted an older woman in a fancy cloche hat, who had just been seated at the next table, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but where are y’all from? You have such unusual accents.”

Rose smiled at the woman, who seemed friendly, and answered, “I’m from London, England, and the Doctor…” she paused, not quite sure even after all this time how to explain the Time Lord. 

“Oh I’m from all over,” said the Doctor cheerily, throwing his hands out expansively. “But I do spend an awful lot of time in Great Britain,” he said with a small frown, as if the thought had only just occurred to him.

“Oh, my!” said the woman in some excitement. “I’ve never been farther than North Carolina, myself. I’m Eleanor, by the way. But London is so far away; what brings you here?”

“We’re travelers,” said Rose, smiling at the Doctor, who grinned back at her conspiratorially. “We’re always going somewhere new.”

“Goodness,” exclaimed Eleanor, “That does sound exciting! But don’t you miss being home sometimes?”

“We do go back to London from time to time,” said Rose. “But the Doctor’s my home now,” she said, and blushed furiously. The words had slipped out, and despite their truth, she hadn't meant the Doctor to hear them. She avoided his gaze, but when he squeezed her hand under the table, she looked up at him cautiously and blushed again at the tender way he looked at her. 

“I see,” chuckled Eleanor. “Ah, young love! So is this your young lady, then, sir?”

The Doctor looked at Rose with a slightly panicked expression, and Rose was sure he was thinking of some way to avoid hurting her when he inevitability brushed off the suggestion. But then the unthinkable happened: the Doctor looked at Eleanor, then back at Rose. “Yes,” he said steadily, “this is my young lady.”

Rose stopped breathing. She looked at the Doctor in wonder, her heart rate going through the roof. What did this mean? Was he done flirting? She felt a light caress on her thumb, and looked up at him again. “If that’s all right with Rose,” he continued nervously.

Rose nodded dumbly at him, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Eleanor’s light laugh washed over them, and she excused herself to the ladies’ room, but they scarcely noticed. 

“Did you mean it?” asked Rose in a low voice. 

The Doctor nodded. “Did you?” His voice tremored with a quality she couldn't quite identify. Rose nodded back. “Of course I did. I do,” she breathlessly confirmed.

The Doctor leaned towards her, eyes dark with intent. “If we were alone, I would kiss you,” he murmured in her ear. Rose felt arousal coil in her belly, and she whispered back, “If we were alone, I’d let you do more than that.” Satisfaction curled inside her as she heard the Doctor’s swift intake of breath and gobsmacked look. 

Just then, the waiter returned with their cobbler. Rose toyed with hers, suddenly not hungry, but the Doctor wolfed his down, and when he was done, asked Rose if she was going to eat hers. She shook her head, and watched incredulously as the Doctor ate the rest of her dessert as well. He noticed her staring at him, and raised an eyebrow, then explained in a low voice, “I'm anticipating using an awful lot of energy tonight.” He grinned and winked boldly at her. 

Rose smiled back at him. “Maybe you should order another one” she purred. “You're going to need all of your strength,” she finished, and was pleased when the Doctor's cheeky grin vanished, and he swallowed. Hard. 

She was just wondering if they could skip the dancing part of the evening, and get straight to the, well, the _dancing_ part of the evening, but before she could suggest going back to the TARDIS, the maître d’ approached the Doctor, looking somewhat agitated. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, sir, but there is a black man outside the tradesman’s entrance who says he knows you. He was quite insistent….”

“ _Molto bene_!” roared the Doctor, banging his fist on the table and rattling the silverware. “Lead the way!” 

The maître d’ led the Doctor off, and Rose sighed. Eleanor, who had just returned as the Doctor left, leaned over and patted Rose on the arm. “He’ll be back, Honey” she said.

***

The Doctor hurriedly followed the maître d’ out the side door, where, indeed, there was a young black man, perhaps in his late twenties, with a medium-sized black leather instrument case leaning against a tree. 

“Pops!” called the Doctor delightedly, “How’s life in the Windy City?” The maître d’, satisfied that the Doctor actually knew the man, returned to his duties. 

“Do I know you, sir?” asked the man warily. 

“It’s me, Louis — it’s the Doctor. I’ve changed a bit … well, rather a lot, actually, since we met. But it’s still me inside.”

The musician’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion.

“How do I know it’s you?” he challenged.

“Seven years ago, New Orleans, a riverboat with an exceedingly rude captain,” said the Doctor, raising his left eyebrow. “A captain who inconveniently died of a heart attack at the wheel the same night he insulted you and all of your ancestors,” he continued, and the other man gasped. “Shall I go on?”

“No need, no need!” said the man hastily, looking around him and waving his arms in the air. He looked at the Doctor in wonder. “It is you! I don’t know how, but somehow it is you!” he said. 

The Doctor beamed at him, and enveloped the man in a bear hug. 

The musician squirmed out of the Doctor’s enthusiastic embrace, and held him at arm’s length, shaking his head and laughing. “All right, all right, that's enough of that!”

“You’re doing well in Chicago?” the Doctor enquired.

“I’m sittin’ pretty, Doc. It’s a long way from Elkmont, Tennessee though, let me tell you that!” he laughed.

“Sorry about the long trip, I owe you one.”

“You _owe_ me 42 clams for the two trains, the bus, and the ox cart I had to take to get here, and what I’ll need to get back to Chicago!” he chuckled.

“Right! Sorry… I did remember, just, hang on,” the Doctor began to go through his pockets until he turned up a large wad of cash, which he immediately handed over. The man's eyes widened again — there must be at least a hundred dollars there. He grinned and shrugged, stuffing the money in his pocket. 

“Did you have time to learn the material I gave you?” the Doctor asked. 

“Positively! Where did you say it was from?”

“The question is when, and the answer is I can’t tell you, you know that.”

“Killjoy. Aw, don’t look like that now, I’m just kidding with you. Where’s the band?”

“Inside. I’ll take you to them, they’re setting up now.”

***

Rose fiddled with her silverware as she listened to Eleanor tell tales about bears and fishing, and swimming in the river with her mates and other stories of local life. The stories were interesting enough, but after about fifteen minutes had passed, she started tapping her foot under the table. What on Earth was taking the Doctor so long to return? She had just decided to excuse herself and go look for him when he ducked through the nearest door and strode over to their table. As he arrived, the sound of musicians warming up on various instruments drifted through the open door. The Doctor took his tailcoat from the back of his chair, flipped it around and eased into it, then stepped behind Rose’s chair. She turned her head to look at him, and he leaned down.

“Sorry that took so long. Dance with me?” he said.

“I'd love to,” she said warmly. He took her hand and helped her to stand as he pulled her chair out for her. She tucked her arm in his, and he led her through the nearby French doors, and into the large room she’d seen on the way in. The music began just as they walked inside, and other people … other _couples_ , she noted, began to enter through the three sets of doors opening onto the porch. 

Inside, there were two enormous stone fireplaces on either end of the hardwood-floored ballroom, and at the far end, to the right of the fireplace, stood an upright piano. One man sat at the piano, while in front of him stood three musicians she didn’t recognize, and one short black man with a trumpet that she thought she did, from a portrait in the music section of the TARDIS library. Rose looked incredulously at the Doctor. 

“That’s not… it can’t be, not way out here…,” she said.

“Oh yes!” he responded enthusiastically, leading her to the middle of the room, “It most certainly is! None other than the great Armstrong, Rose!” A number of people looked at them in surprise, then towards the band, and an excited chatter spread through the ballroom. “I met him a few years ago, back when … well, back in my previous regeneration,” The Doctor continued quietly. “I might have gotten him out of a tight spot back then, and he was good enough to make the trip here tonight at my request,” he grinned, coming to a stop, and turning to face her. 

Rose looked between the Doctor and the trumpet player in disbelief. Oh, she knew the Doctor knew all sorts of famous people, but for him to call in a favor like this when he could have just given the man a lift in the TARDIS …. The Doctor had apparently gone to great lengths to make this a surprise for her. 

“Thank you,” she said with a grateful smile, not knowing what to say. 

“It was my pleasure,” he said sincerely, and the way he said it had Rose immediately thinking of other kinds of pleasure they might engage in. 

The music picked up, and the Doctor took Rose's right hand in his left, extending their arms out to the side. Rose put her free hand on the Doctor's shoulder, and he placed his free hand against the bare skin of her upper back, drawing her close. 

Rose’s breath escaped her in a whoosh, and she was unable to suppress a shiver at the sensation of his slightly cooler skin against her back, pleasant on the hot summer evening. 

“All right, Rose?” he said as he started to sway with the beat of the music, so much slower than the beat of her heart. She swayed with him, and mumbled an affirmative response. 

“This one's a foxtrot — most of them will be — just follow my lead,” he said, and slowly stepped backwards. Rose stumbled after him, and apologized when they came to a stop. 

“You'll find your feet at the end of your legs — you may care to move them,” he said with an infuriatingly charming smile, echoing her own words to him from a lifetime ago. 

Rose blushed hotly, mortified at her sudden and uncharacteristic lack of coordination. She started to move away, but the Doctor pulled her firmly into dancing position again, murmuring an apology. “Sorry, I'm sorry! Rude as ever, I'm afraid,” he said contritely. 

“No, s’alright. I'm sorry I can't seem to control my own feet,” she said with a rueful laugh. 

“It's a new dance to you, Rose. I shouldn't have teased,” he said, rubbing her back lightly. “Can we try this again?” 

“Yeah, ‘course we can,” she said breathlessly, distracted by the sensation of his long fingers caressing the skin above the edge of her dress.

The Doctor began to move again, and this time, Rose was able to follow him gracefully. They made their way in slow, clockwise circles around the center of the dance floor, and at the end of the song, moved smoothly into the next number. 

Rose learned quickly, and it wasn't long before the two of them were dancing with abandon to increasingly quick-tempoed songs, and grinning at each other like idiots. 

After a while, the music slowed again, each dance at a lower tempo, until the band stopped altogether. The crowd looked up as Armstrong lowered his trumpet, and they made a disappointed noise until the man held up his arm. 

“Good evening, folks,” he rasped in his unmistakable deep voice. “Thank you so much. I have one more song for you before the band takes a quick break,” he continued. The crowd began to applaud as they realized that their splendid night of dancing wasn't over. 

“This is a new number, brought to you by special request of the man who invited me here tonight,” he said, gesturing at the Doctor. The crowd murmured its approval at this revelation, and several people began to applaud politely once again, until Armstrong once again raised his hand for quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen, ‘La Vie en Rose.’ Hit it, fellas.” 

Rose looked up at the Doctor, but he quickly pulled her against him and into dancing position again, hoping she couldn't see that he was blushing. 

They swayed and moved to the music, and then Armstrong began to sing. 

_“Hold me close and hold me fast_  
_This magic spell you cast_  
_This is la vie en rose”_

Rose felt her heartbeat quicken as she realized the Doctor intended this song just for her. 

_“When you kiss me heaven sighs_  
_And though I close my eyes_  
_I see la vie en rose.”_

The Doctor felt Rose's pulse race under his fingers, and his own sped up in pursuit.

_“When you press me to your heart_  
_I'm in a world apar_ t  
_A world where roses bloom”_

Rose closed her eyes and let the words wash over her. 

_“And when you speak, angels sing from above_  
_Everyday words seem to turn into love songs._  
_Give your heart and soul to me_  
_And life will always be la vie en rose.”_

The song reached a crescendo, and the rest of the people in that room might as well have not been there for all that either one of them cared. They stopped in the middle of the crowd, no longer even pretending to dance, just holding each other tight. Rose pulled back enough to see the Doctor's face, her eyes shining brightly with unshed tears. She reached up, fingers sliding into his hair. He shuddered against her as she pressed lightly against the back of his neck. He bent down, closed his eyes, and covered her mouth with his own.

Rose whimpered softly, and he quickly deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue and delicately stroking inside her mouth. He tasted of sweet tea and peaches. She captured his tongue between her lips and sucked on the tip, provoking a low groan from the Doctor. 

Just then, the maître d’ appeared at their side, clearing his throat loudly. They reluctantly pulled apart, looking at the disgruntled little man. 

“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. This is totally unacceptable behavior in a public place!” he squeaked indignantly. Unfortunately, this was borne out by the whispered conversations taking place all around them.

The Doctor looked back at the maître d’ with a severe expression, but was unable to stop the heat rising from his face. “Lecture not required, thanks,” he said with equal indignation. “We were just leaving,” he continued, and the little man sniffed haughtily, clearly not believing a word of it. 

The Doctor took Rose's hand. “I need a quick word with Louis, then we'll go,” he told the maître d’ firmly. The man crossed his arms over his chest, and huffed. Ignoring him, the Doctor pulled Rose along toward the band. 

“Come say hello to the greatest trumpet player-singer who ever lived, Rose,” he enthused. Armstrong was cleaning his instrument, but looked up as they approached. “Rose, meet Louis Armstrong!” said the Doctor excitedly. “Pops, this is my… er, this is Rose Tyler,” he said, the tips of his ears growing hot. 

Armstrong set his trumpet down on its case and extended his hand to her, shaking it firmly but gently. “It's so nice to meet you, Rose,” he said with a wide smile. “I hope you enjoyed the music tonight,” he continued. 

Rose blushed a little, thinking of the Doctor's song request. But she managed to reply, “It was lovely, thank you! And thank you for making such a long trip.”

Armstrong smiled at the Doctor, and winked as he said, “Anything for the Doc, and anything to help love along,” he said with a light laugh. 

Rose's blush deepened, but this time her blush was echoed by the Doctor. She was afraid that he might try to pull away, and unconsciously tightened her grip on his hand until he squeezed back. 

“We'd better go,” he said, “Before the maître d’ explodes. Thanks again, Pops! And er… if you don't mind, would you settle our account with the house?”

“Sure thing. You gave me more than enough dough for that, on top of what you owed me.”

The Doctor shook his hand, narrowly stopping himself from giving the man another hug. He paused, then continued in a low voice, “I really shouldn't say anything, but as I've already caused a small paradox by bringing that song to this time — just, whatever happens, Pops, you're going to be all right.” 

“Okay, Doc, thanks.” Armstrong nodded slowly. 

“Goodbye, then!” said the Doctor. 

“Goodbye, Doctor. Goodbye, Miss Rose! You take care of him, all right? Be good to each other,” Armstrong bade them farewell. 

The Doctor and Rose both nodded, and they walked out of the clubhouse, hand in hand, ignoring the curious, and the scandalized looks they got along the way. They got to the bottom of the steps and paused. The Doctor quirked an eyebrow at Rose, she gave him a tongue-touched smile, and he grinned back at her. 

_“Allons-y!”_ he shouted, tugging her into a run beside him. She shrieked with laughter as they ran across the parking lot and into the woods beyond. 

***

The sun was starting to set, and they slowed as they reached the boardwalk that would take them back to the TARDIS. Rose's head was spinning as if she were drunk, and she wondered if the Doctor was as calm as he appeared on the outside. He talked almost non-stop (even more non-stop than usual) as they walked, first about his exploits with Louis Armstrong, whom he referred to alternately as “Pops” and “Satchmo,” which confused Rose until she realized he was talking about the same man. The Doctor continued on, waxing lyrical about the history of jazz, Chicago jazz, Chicago restaurants, and the miracle of deep dish pizza, in blinding succession. 

Soon they arrived at the beloved blue police box, the little two-story cabin visible off a little way to the side, and to Rose's surprise, he opened the TARDIS door for her and gestured for her to go inside. 

“Why don't you go, er… freshen up — meet me back here in a few minutes?”

“All right,” she said, puzzled. 

“I want to show you something out back by the stream,” he said mysteriously. 

Rose had been so sure that they were _finally_ going to be intimate as soon as they got back to the TARDIS, and now the Doctor wanted to show her something first? She sighed quietly and resigned herself to waiting a just little bit longer, deciding that it was probably just as well. It was all right for the Doctor, who never seemed to sweat even after running around like a maniac all day, but a quick shower and a fresh set of undergarments wasn't a bad idea for a human who had been out walking and dancing in the warm and humid Tennessee night. 

No more than 15 minutes later, a squeaky clean Rose Tyler emerged from the TARDIS. She was back in her dress, fresh from the TARDIS’s laundry appliance in her ensuite, and wondering what the Doctor was up to. He was leaning up against the wall of the cabin, and greeted her with a smile. He held the door open for her as she came closer. 

He guided her through the cabin and out the back door, which led out onto a wooden deck, its long, smoothly-polished boards running parallel to the stream. A thick, dark blue blanket covered the part of the deck nearest to the water. Tall rosebay rhododendron bushes grew thickly across the creek from them, the tiny florets in full bloom. 

The Doctor removed his tailcoat, shoes and socks, setting them down near the door, sighing in relief to be freed of the dress shoes. He rolled up his trouser cuffs, then sat down on the edge of the deck, trailing his feet in the cool water. He rolled up the sleeves of his white tuxedo shirt, quickly untied his bow tie and let it dangle around his neck, and undid the top button of his shirt. Then he turned and looked at Rose, still standing in the back doorway, and patted the deck beside him.

“Join me?” he said with a smile, “The water's fine!”

Rose slipped off her shoes, set them down next to his, and turned around to look at him. He watched her intently. She moved to sit on the blanket next to him, her whole body flushing under his intense gaze.

The Doctor put his arm around her and pulled her snugly against his side. She leaned into him, slipping her own arm around him, and rested her head on his shoulder.

She was just getting ready to ask what it was he wanted to show her when she saw a tiny yellow light flash in front of her, across the stream. Two more flashes came from their right. 

“Look, fireflies!” said Rose excitedly. She had only seen the bioluminescent creatures once before, on an overnight trip to the country when she was small. 

“I know! And these aren't just any old fireflies,” the Doctor enthused.

Rose looked up at him curiously. 

“They're very special ones. They're synchronous fireflies! The Great Smoky Mountains are one of only a few places on Earth you can see them,” he said in excitement. “The other places are mostly in Asia, and as the males all perch up in the trees, it's not as much fun as the ones here, where you’re down amongst them.”

“Synchronous fireflies? Do you mean they all flash together, at the same time?” Rose asked. 

“Yes, exactly,” he said. “But actually, they don't fire off all at once, the flashing goes in waves. You'll see!” The Doctor beamed at Rose. 

The night darkened and they saw more and more of the tiny lights. As Rose watched in amazement, they all synchronized with each other, just as the Doctor had said. They started winking off in the distance upstream and continued in a wave towards them and beyond, down the creek. Rose was utterly enchanted by the magical display. 

The Doctor spoke quietly, unable to resist sharing a bit of scientific lore. “This species of firefly is called _Photinus carolinus_. A rhyming name for an insect that flashes in a synchronous rhythmic pattern! Isn't that brilliant, Rose?” he beamed at her, and she shook her head at him, grinning back at his enthusiasm. “The timing of the flashes depends a bit on the temperature, but the blinking pattern of a male _P. carolinus_ is four to eight flashes every two to four seconds, followed by a dark period of eight to 12 seconds.”

“Where do the females come into it, then?” asked Rose curiously. 

“Ah, the female response is much more subtle. They give off a faint pulsed signal during the dark period, so the males can see them without interference from the other males’ lights. Then little groups of males will gather round a female and compete for her attentions. It's her choice of which suitor to accept.”

Rose pulled back just enough to look at him properly. “It's so beautiful! I had no idea things like this existed here — on Earth, I mean. Thank you.”

The Doctor gazed at her softly. “You're welcome, Rose.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “I've traveled for an awfully long time, seen so many beautiful things. But it’s so much better seeing them with someone who, er…, ” he nodded and trailed off, looking down at the stream. 

“All you need is a hand to hold, yeah? Better with two,” she said with a crooked smile. 

“Better with you,” admitted the Doctor. “I've had many other companions, over the centuries,” he continued, staring straight ahead. “Some of them have meant a great deal to me. But I've never been in love with any of them,” he said, and looked directly at her. “Until now.”

Rose sucked in a deep breath, her heart pounding. She put her arms around him and squeezed him tightly, despite the awkward angle. “I love you, too. I have for the longest time.” 

He swallowed, returning her sideways embrace. Slowly, he disengaged from her and eased himself off the edge of the deck and into the shallow stream, quickly finding purchase on the sandy bottom with his bare feet. He turned toward her and leaned forward, cupping her face in his hands, and sealing his lips over hers. He groaned as Rose threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him in closer. He began to move his mouth against hers, and she responded by tracing the seam of his lips with her tongue. He opened for her at once, and she plunged into his mouth, stroking his tongue with hers hotly as he shuddered and responded in kind. 

When she began to feel lightheaded, Rose pulled back, breathing heavily. The Doctor placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed lightly. “That respiratory bypass of yours isn't fair,” she said, and focused on the Doctor's shirt. She reached up and slowly started undoing the buttons, her tongue touching her teeth as she concentrated on the task. She paused after each new bit of skin was bared, placing a kiss each time where the button had been. 

The Doctor felt as if he might burst into flames if she kept it up. But she soon reached the collar of his v-necked undershirt and had to stop. She looked at him in such disappointment that he couldn't help laughing. He stopped her frown with a deep kiss, then pulled back long enough to finish unbuttoning his tuxedo shirt and removing it, and then his t-shirt, tossing them both in the general direction of his tailcoat and shoes. He returned to Rose and pulled her into a hug. She stroked him from his shoulders down to his shoulder blades, and all the way down his long, lean back until she encountered a matching pair of dimples. She dug her fingers in there, massaging the knots she found. 

The Doctor shuddered and groaned at the release of one kind of tension, and the increase of another. Rose was trailing her fingers back up to his shoulders when she felt his fingers fumbling with the zipper of her dress. He got hold of it briefly, and said, “This okay?” He waited for her breathless, “Yeah, more than,” before drawing the zipper down. Rose stood and shimmied out of the shiny golden dress, letting it pool at her feet like a dragon's hoard. She stood before the Doctor in just her lacy bra and knickers, nervously awaiting his reaction. 

The Doctor looked at Rose with half-lidded eyes, his pupils dilated so wide, his eyes looked like pools of sable ink. “Rose,” he murmured, “you put the stars to shame.”

Rose flushed from head to toe. “I'll just… put this over here,” she said, grabbing the dress, and trying desperately to concentrate on something other than shagging the Doctor for a few seconds. She dropped the dress on top of her shoes and returned to stand in front of him. She took a deep breath, and made his eyes open wide when she unhooked her bra, removing the lacy garment, and tossed it onto her growing pile of discarded clothing. 

The Doctor took in a shaky breath. “Come here,” he rumbled in the deepest voice she'd ever heard him use. Compelled to respond, Rose stepped directly in front of him. He reached up and hooked his fingers in the waistband of her knickers, and slowly drew them down her legs. 

Rose trembled at the feel of his fingers removing her last layer. When he reached her ankles, she stepped out of the scrap of lace and watched him toss it aside. He never took his eyes off of her. “Perfect,” he murmured, and kissed the inside of her thigh. Rose gasped, pulling air into her lungs in a deliberate effort to stop herself from passing out. 

“What about you?” she somehow managed to say. “Trousers off, please.” If it had been lighter out, Rose might have seen the Doctor flush from his head down his torso, and beyond. But he unbuttoned his trousers and carefully eased them, and his boxers, over his prominent erection and down his legs, stepping out of the wet garment with some difficulty and, to Rose's helpless amusement, nearly falling over a slippery rock as he attempted to stand up again. He tossed his trousers and pants towards the rest of his clothes, and returned to his spot in front of her. He raised an eyebrow and patted the deck in front of him, indicating for her to sit down. She readily complied, sitting with her calves hanging off the deck and her feet trailing in the water. 

The Doctor ran his cool hands from her knees up her smooth thighs. Then, to Rose's surprise, he reached around her, moved his hands under her bottom and picked her up with ease, setting her down at the very edge of the deck. He leaned into her, pulling her into a close embrace, groaning at the skin-to-skin contact, and ran his hands all over her back in random patterns. 

Rose took advantage of his proximity to stroke his shoulders and back, always coming back to massage the knots in his dimples. This seemed to be an erogenous zone for him, making him moan and buck into her, trying to generate some friction between them. 

He kissed his way down her throat, pausing to suck on her neck in a few places that would form marks even before they departed. Rose hummed appreciatively. The Doctor kissed her just above her breasts, and stopped to look at her in question.

“Please,” she said yearningly. 

He trailed his tongue down to her left nipple, traced around her areola, and took it into his mouth, sucking gently, laving the nipple eagerly with the tip of his tongue. Rose gasped, pushing her chest against him. He covered her entire breast with kisses then went back to work the nipple into a hard peak. She mewled loudly, scraping her fingernails lightly down his back, and he released her breast, echoing her with a soft groan. 

He moved his mouth to her other breast, his fingers coming up to tease the nipple he'd just left, giving it a slight tweak before covering her whole breast with his palm. He sucked intently on her right nipple, simultaneously rolling her left between his fingertips. Rose let all of her breath out in a whoosh, suddenly feeling lightheaded. 

She snaked a hand between them, finally encountering the velvety soft skin covering his hard cock. He made a choking sound and stopped what he was doing to thrust into the circle of her fingers. Rose murmured encouragement to him as he continued to move against her hand. But after a few moments of this, he reluctantly withdrew from her touch and held her close while he tried to find some control. 

He gently pushed her legs apart, knelt in front of her on the stream bed, gave her a smoldering look, and licked slowly up her dripping wet center to her clit. She lay back, supporting herself on her elbows and set her feet on his shoulders, watching as the Doctor wrapped his arms around her thighs, holding her open. He closed his eyes as he gave himself over to pleasuring her, focusing on her engorged nub with single-minded determination until Rose moaned at every touch of his mouth against her.

Based on her experience with previous lovers, Rose had imagined this scenario with the Doctor using the flat of his tongue. But instead he was using the tip of that tantalizing tongue, curled into a sharp point. Every time he touched her, intense pleasure coursed through her, and he was ruthless, stroking her clit in circles followed by rapid side to side and back and forth movements in succession, until he learned her preferences from the intensity of her response. 

From then on, he stuck with the side-to-side motion that seemed to drive her particularly wild. She began to climax, legs shuddering out of her control, and he thrust first one, then two long fingers inside her, boosting her orgasm to a higher level. He started to suck on her clit, gently at first, then more intensely, until she cried out and bucked up into his mouth, not even caring when the edge of his teeth accidentally grazed her, she was so far gone. The Doctor's low moan reverberated through her sex, the vibration almost more than she could bear. 

He continued to suck her, pumping his fingers in and out of her, drawing every last drop of liquid arousal from her until she pushed his head away, unable to take any more. He withdrew his fingers slowly, causing more shudders, rinsed them off in the stream, then stood shakily, and drew her into a tender hug. 

“All right, Rose?” He murmured. 

She nodded against his chest, and then, to her horror, began to sob. 

He held her tightly, murmuring reassurances in her ear, until she calmed enough to stop. 

“Sorry I'm so emotional. I just…,” she said, trying to find the words to explain.

“No, no, no! It's fine. Orgasms are a big release of tension, and, well, we’ve had that going between us for a long time. The sexual tension, I mean.”

“I know. It's not that… Well, not just that,” she said. “I'd started to think this was something we could never have, is all.”

“Because I've always pulled away before,” the Doctor stated ruefully. 

Rose nodded, embracing him more tightly. The Doctor hugged her back, and they stayed like that for a long moment before he took her face in his hands and kissed her. 

“Oh, Rose, I'm so sorry. I was afraid of being hurt. I don't know if I can bear to lose you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “But I could see that I was hurting you, every time I drew back from the intimacy. And after Krop Tor, I just couldn't do it again.”

Rose kissed him back, slowly and thoroughly. “I love you, so much,” she murmured, and his hearts clenched.

“I love you, Rose,” he said, “Always.” 

Rose sighed and melted into his embrace. He held her close and gently rubbed her back. 

A long moment later she pulled back a little way and smiled at him, tongue peeking out between her teeth. “We were talking about unresolved sexual tension… is there anything I can help you with?”

“Welllll… I've already had one orgasm, but I wouldn't turn down another,” he surprised her by saying. 

“Do you mean… you mean when I…,” she started to say. 

“When you climaxed, so did I,” he said. “Does that bother you?” he asked with a concerned frown. 

“Suppose I should be flattered,” she said. “But do you mean you're, um, ready to go again, then?” she asked. 

“Mmm. Could we resume where we left off?” he said hopefully, feeling the blood rush to his groin in anticipation. 

“You mean, like this?” She lay back down, coyly resting on her elbows, and slowly spread her legs apart. The Doctor placed his hands on her knees and splayed her even wider, then leaned forward, finding he was at the perfect level, and rutted against her, covering his hardening cock with the evidence of her renewed arousal. He reached down to spread her wetness over his shaft, then stroked her clit with its tip. Rose leaned further back, finally abandoning the attempt to sit up part of the way and watch him. He poised the head of his cock at her entrance, and slowly, teasingly, pushed the tip inside her. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she raised her head to look at him again — he hadn’t seemed quite this substantial, but he was now filling her almost painfully. 

He waited for her to adjust, his hands curling around her thighs, trembling with the effort of not moving forward. After a few moments, Rose nodded, and gratefully, he buried himself in her heat, the contrast with the cool river water washing over his legs intensifying the sensations. Again, he waited until she adjusted to his size, and at her nod, started to thrust into her slowly. 

Rose arched her neck, overwhelmed by pleasure as the Doctor continued to move in a rhythm more ancient than the Earth. He withdrew fully each time before sinking deeply inside her. She waited until he was fully sheathed inside her, and then squeezed him with her inner muscles. He was breathing heavily, too heavily to talk, but he choked out, “Rose!” before grasping her thighs for leverage and starting to speed his hips. The heat of her was almost more than he could bear, but when she started rocking into him to meet his thrusts, he cried out in helpless pleasure. He kept time with her for a dozen beats of his hearts before he lost control, moving erratically as he chased his release. 

Rose was so close after hearing him gasp, but she realized in frustration that she wasn't quite going to get there in time. But just before she was going to reach down and touch herself, the Doctor adjusted his angle so that he was hitting her perfectly inside with every powerful thrust, and he simultaneously slipped a hand between them, thumbing her clit with surprising delicacy. Rose cried out, a strained moan that nearly triggered the Doctor’s orgasm. Her climax hit her like a fireball, and she trembled and shook with her release. Whether it was chance or some quirk of being a Time Lord she didn't know, but he immediately followed her with a loud groan, pulsing hot liquid inside her, extending her own orgasm. She found she couldn't breathe as her climax continued to roll through her, and she felt she might shake apart from the intense waves of pleasure. Finally, he collapsed halfway on top of her, and her tremors gradually subsided. 

“Blimey,” said the Doctor, trying to regain his breath. He put one arm around her and hugged her close. They lay on the warm blanket, recovering from the exertion. Rose could barely move, boneless from her release, her breath coming heavily. Predictably, the Doctor was the first to recuperate, and he hauled himself onto the deck and lay down next to her.

“That was brilliant, absolutely brilliant!” he said with a grin, propping himself up on an elbow. 

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Rose, starting to laugh. “It was amazing. You were wonderful,” she said, cupping his cheek in her hand.

“You, too,” said the Doctor tenderly, reaching to move a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And it was only our first time!” he said, his voice an octave higher. “Imagine what it will be like when we've had a bit of practice,” he grinned, waggling his eyebrows at her. 

Rose’s eyes widened. “Not sure if I can survive anything better than that,” she said, not sure whether to be amused or alarmed by the Doctor's pronouncement. 

“Only one way to find out,” the Doctor smiled. 

“No, it was perfect,” said Rose shyly. “Tonight was perfect. I've never felt so loved.”

The Doctor’s hearts clenched in his chest, and he swallowed. “I'm glad it could be with me,” he said. 

Rose moved to embrace the Doctor as best she could, while lying on the deck. He put his arm around her, then sat up, bringing her with him. He looked left and right down the stream, and seeing only a few fireflies still trying to find a mate, and hearing Rose trying to stifle a yawn, he decided that they should retire for the evening. He kissed her sweetly. 

“C’mon, Rose. Back to the TARDIS,” he insisted, and helped her to her feet. She stood unsteadily for a moment, still feeling rather boneless. 

“Oh wait!” he exclaimed, and, after making sure she was standing on her own, he knelt by the stream and reached an arm down to grab a large bottle. 

“Champagne?” asked Rose, amused.

“I put it in the stream to chill while you were in the shower,” he said ruefully. “I forgot all about it!”

“Well,” laughed Rose, “it should be chilled by now.”

“Would you still like some?” he suggested. 

“That's all right. Let's save it for next time.”

They got dressed for the short trip to the TARDIS, Rose giggling as the Doctor struggled into his wet trousers. He admonished her with a look, threw the blanket over his shoulder, and they walked back swinging their clasped hands between them. Rose watched as her Time Lord danced around the console, happier than she could ever recall seeing him, and her heart was full. And as the blue box faded into time and the night, the last active fireflies of the evening scattered into the vast forest. 

 

**End notes:**

Elkmont and the synchronous fireflies are real!

Rose’s dress can be seen [here.](http://www.weardreamsaremade.com/1920s-style-gold-beaded-starlight-dress-s-m-l-xl-or-plus-sizes/)

(Edited to try to correct the link to Rose's dress.)


End file.
